


bleeding lungs

by bukluv



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF, Sideshow - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Character Death, GTA AU, MAJOR ANGST my plan was to kill with this, gunshow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 19:17:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16124996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bukluv/pseuds/bukluv
Summary: Dave doesn’t mind admitting when he cries. He doesn’t mind admitting that he cries easily and is open with his emotions. He thinks it’s healthy to be expressive and tears aren’t something he stops from shedding, so he’s cried plenty of times in his life. But right now, this very moment, he wishes he could stop.He wishes that the tears would stop, that he could be quiet, that his nose would stop running, that his hands would stop shaking. He wishes that the wounds would close, that the blood would stop seeping, that his best friend would open his eyes and just look at him. Instead he watches as his teardrops splatter onto the face of the man in his arms; he watches as one of the best things in his life is taken away from him.





	bleeding lungs

**Author's Note:**

> :)  
> here's a good song to listen to while reading:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g5I-ttgLKaU

 

Dave doesn’t mind when he and Sput are out on surveillance duty. He enjoys being able to chill a little bit while on a mission, and he sure as hell enjoys any time he has with Sput. The two of them are best buds, have been for years and will probably stay as so for years to come. They mesh well, clash enough to keep each other on their toes. They push each other to strive and to be as best as they can be. Dave doesn’t know where he would be without Sput and he likes to remind him that every chance he has.

 

Right now it’s just the two of them in a van disguised as an electric company’s, their tech scattered all over the place, wires hung all over the walls. Dave’s on the floor, legs tucked under him with a laptop on his lap as he skims through the security footage. Sput’s sitting up in the one chair they have, eyes glued to the many monitors displaying maps, footage, the Crew’s plan, and etc. There’s not much to do right now, the mission won’t actually start until a little under an hour from now. Sput and Dave just had to make sure everything was fine tech and security wise beforehand.

 

After Dave’s done with his look through he sets the laptop aside and stretches his legs, arms pulling up in a stretch, groaning as his back pops. He leans against one of the van’s walls and watches Sput with soft eyes, notices the crease in his brows from deep concentration. Dave brings a foot up and nudges at his friend’s side, light and with a soft smile on his face. 

 

“Everything look good?” He asks, head tilted as he pushes his glasses back up his face. 

 

Sput makes a noise of confirmation, shoulders up in a small shrug as he remains hunched and staring at the monitors. A couple more moments of silence before he finally sighs and leans back, swiveling in the chair to look at Dave better.

 

“Pretty sure, yeah. I mean everything looks good, like, really good. That worries me a little bit.” Sput admits, lips in a slight frown as he rubs at his chin. 

 

“Well that’s what we want, right? For things to be really good?” Dave reasons, legs going into a criss-cross as he leans forward to pull his friend’s hand into both of his. He prods at Sput’s fingers, tracing the creases of his palm softly. “If there’s a little hiccup I believe in the boys to handle it. It’s what they do.” He says, bright and full of pride. 

 

Sput hums and gives in, twisting his hand out of Dave’s so that he can take a seat on the floor next to him. “You’re right, you’re right.” He laughs, hands up before he hooks his arm around Dave’s shoulders and brings him in for a hug. They rest like that for awhile, their heads knocked together, Sput’s arm blanketed over Dave, Dave’s hand holding Sput’s free one.

 

“We still have 40 minutes until they’re supposed to be here, right?” Dave queries, humming in thought as he feels Sput nod in confirmation. “What do we do until then?” 

 

There’s silence as they think about it. The conclusion is to just enjoy the stillness before the chaos is brought. They remain in their position, Dave bringing up new songs and artists that he’s found and Sput cataloging everything to check out later. They talk about whatever they can, Sput’s occasional laughter ringing through, Dave’s sighs and exclamations slipping out every once in awhile. It’s nice. Surveillance is boring and Dave usually loathes being put on the job, but right now as he sits here with Sput he thinks he doesn’t mind it this one time.

 

They let time pass, checking how long they have left only every once in awhile. As much as they love the Crew and their respective boyfriends, sometimes Dave and Sput need a little time to themselves. Dave is enjoying this time as much as he can, their hands intertwined as they match their breathing to a slow and calm pace. The calm before the storm.

 

It all comes crashing down in an instant. 

 

Dave’s not sure what happened first, the explosion or the gunshots, but his ears are ringing before he can even blink. Both of them untangling themselves and sitting upright in shock and alarm. The van’s right tire is blown out from what it feels like, the tipping of the vehicle and the smell of burning rubber throwing both men for a loop. Small streams of light filter in through the bullet holes that encase the van. The sudden faint smell of blood and a quiet wheeze has Dave’s heart in his throat as he looks over his friend. 

 

Sput’s hand is over his shoulder, face contorted in pain as he hunches over. His teeth are grit together and he looks up at Dave with eyes pleading for god knows what. Dave can only swallow and reach for his friend, prying the hand covering the wound to see it better. Blood is dripping excessively, staining Sput’s black shirt even darker. The gunshots start again, a rattling sound and the noise of metal piercing metal shaking Dave to his core. 

 

This situation isn’t ideal and Dave knew one day he’d have to face something like this but he wishes it weren’t with Sput. He wishes that he was alone, that he didn’t have to witness a friend, a loved one, hurt like this. He wishes that if he were to die to this, it’d be in his own. 

 

Dave’s quick in getting up after ripping a piece of his long sleeve off to wrap around Sput’s shoulder. He helps his friend up off the ground, ducking and praying for the best as more gunshots ensue. The noise and the bullets embedding themself into the van has Dave’s heart rate skyrocketing, his hands shaking, sweat dripping down his temple. They can’t stay here. 

 

Sput is quick in grabbing his phone, hitting the volume button three times to send an SOS to the crew as Dave carefully pries the back doors of the van open. He slowly swings them open and spots the entrance of the alleyway that leads to the abandoned building closest to them. 

 

“Sput. We have to go now. They’ll blow us into smithereens if we don’t move.” Dave’s eyes are wide with terror as he looks between Sput and their escape. Sput still has a hand over his wound and his eyes are glossy but he nods in understanding, heading over to Dave to check out their path. It’s not far, just a trip down the alleyway near the van into a side door. If they’re fast they can make it without another injury. Sput takes a deep breath and grabs onto Dave’s hand with his free one. 

 

Dave grips the hand in his firmly, his breathing heavy with the panic that’s slowly settling in. “O-okay, we start running on 1. Ready?” Another nod from Sput. They count in unison

 

“3.” They prepare themselves, stances ready to book it.

 

“2.” The first step out of the van. The doors acting as shields as bullets continue their onslot. 

 

“1.” Hand in hand they run, ducking under fire and skidding around the corner into the alleyway quickly. They’re fast, desperate to lose their shooters. The side door is close, a couple feet away. Sput curses as he accidentally drops his phone, the sound of it hitting the asphalt is faint as they leave it behind in a hurry.

 

Dave can feel the sudden stutter in Sput’s step, then another, but a sharp, _ “just keep running!” _ stops him from looking back. When his hand finally reaches the cold and rusted door knob, he swings it open as fast as he can and leads them in, not turning around as he hears Sput kick the door closed behind them.

 

It’s like any old abandoned building. Concrete on concrete, cold and desolate with dust and debris littering the area. Dave spots a crumbling stairway a little ways away. 

 

“D-do you think you can make it there, Sput?” He asks his companion, finally looking back at the man. His grip on Sput’s hand tightens in anxiety and he chooses to remain ignorant of if there are any new bullets in his friend, eyes staying on Sput’s face and never straying. 

 

Sput’s eyes are definitely worse than before, his skin a little paler, his face shining with sweat. “Yeah… yeah I… I think I can.” He manages to say, face twisting in agony at who knows what before he starts to lead Dave to the stairs. There’s a limp in his stride and the tremor in Dave’s hand is worse now. They have to be careful on their climb upwards, testing every step to make sure it doesn’t give away underneath them. 

 

The second they make it up, Dave is ducking under Sput’s good arm and helping him to the closest wall. Dave sits with his back to it and carefully monitors Sput as he lowers himself, upper body cradled in Dave’s arms. He wipes the sweat off of Sput’s brow. 

 

“Where?” is all Dave asks, voice shaky and cracking. 

 

“They g-got me on the calf, left. Another got me on my right side.” Sput lets out a breathy, anxious laugh, his words wheezy and eyes wide with terrifying comprehension as he stares up at the ceiling. “Dave. I-I’m losing a lot of blood.” He states, head lolling to look up at him with urgent eyes. 

 

“I-I know! I know. J-just wait until Charborg or Benji arrives. They’ll be here any minute. J-just hold out, okay? Just stay with me.” Dave’s eyes are watering, they sting as he tries to compose himself. “Please, Sput.” His voice raises, cracking with each word. He sniffs and cradles his friend carefully, hand resting on Sput’s head. “Please.” He repeats, praying to whatever god there is that they’ll make it through this. 

 

The air is still other than Dave’s sniffling and Sput’s agonizing takes of breaths. 

 

“I love you. Y-you know that right, bud?” Sput finally says, eyes soft and crinkled in the corners with a genuine smile. “I don’t know w-what I’d be without you.” Sput’s chest heaves with each breath he takes. His skin so clammy, eyes past the point of just glossy. The blood loss is too much. There’s no coming out of this for him and he knows it. He needs Dave to know how much he’s loved. 

 

Dave is shaking his head, a sob finally escaping as he rests his forehead against Sput’s. “I-I know. I love you too. So much, Sput. I l-love you so much.” Dave whispers, lips trembling and eyes shut as tears start to fall.

 

“Tell Char that I love h-him, okay? Tell Benji th-that he better be good to you or I’ll haunt him forever.” Sput jokes, his laugh empty as he shuts his eyes as well, his own tears starting to shed. He feels the drip of Dave’s on his face and takes a deep breath. “You helped me be the best me there is. I can’t thank you enough for that, Dave.” 

 

“Please, Sput. _ Don’t talk like this _ . You’re making it through this.  _ Please. _ ” Dave’s voice is impossibly low, and he can’t help but wish that Sput would just shut up. He doesn’t want to hear this. He can’t handle it. 

 

Eyes prying open, Sput breathes deeply as his gaze wanders over Dave’s face. “I’m glad that you’re the last thing I see.” Sput says, ignoring Dave’s pleas as he lets himself relax, body no longer tense, tear tracks drying on his face. He raises a weak and slow hand to cup at his companion’s cheek. “I-I’m so glad, Dave.” 

 

The fall of Sput’s hand is gradual, like slow motion, before it finally drops to the side. His eyelids slide close again, and his breath is shallow before it ceases all together. Dave finally lets himself be loud. His sobbing is loud now, so much pain pent up finally let loose. He’s begging for his friend to cut this out. 

 

“Sput,  _ stop. _ S-stop this right now. _ Stop it right now, Sput _ . This isn’t funny.” Dave would be hysteric if he wasn’t afraid of disturbing his friend’s body in his arms. He tightens his hold around Sput and lets the tears continue. His head hurts, his eyes sting, his throat feels tight. His hiccups hurt his chest and he wishes it’d all stop.

 

Dave doesn’t mind admitting when he cries. He doesn’t mind admitting that he cries easily and is open with his emotions. He thinks it’s healthy to be expressive and tears aren’t something he stops from shedding, so he’s cried plenty of times in his life. But right now, this very moment, he wishes he could stop. He wishes that the tears would stop, that he could be quiet, that his nose would stop running, that his hands would stop shaking. 

 

He wishes that the wounds would close, that the blood would stop seeping, that his best friend would open his eyes and just look at him. Instead he watches as his teardrops splatter onto the face of the man in his arms; he watches as one of the best things in his life is taken away from him. 

 

It’s quiet after he finally comprehends all that’s happened. His hold on Sput never loosens, he never takes his eyes off of his face, he doesn’t look up when the sound of a door banging open echoes through the building. He’s silent as the sound of boots rush in down below. He’s silent as he hears them ascend the stairs. He’s silent as he finally looks up.

 

The Sideshow boys aren’t there to greet him. 

 

Dave is silent as a gun nozzle is aimed down at him. He doesn’t look at them, doesn’t fight as he gazes down at Sput’s still face. He doesn’t hesitate as he places a soft kiss to Sput’s forehead.

 

The last things he hears are his own shallow breathing and the shot of a gun.


End file.
